His co-worker, Joe DiNozzo, had taken great risks to organize the sick-out. Discreet flyers had been left in the toilet seat cover dispensary in the end restroom stall. Justin had explained he couldn’t risk getting fired since he had a pregnant wife and had assured Joe he wouldn’t rat him out. Joe hadn’t been too happy. So, while Justin’s co-workers were at the lab testing for a fake flu bug, he was the one jerk who had opted-out. He had to. Ella was going to the Zhetto Market. Today!
Stay focused. His eyes darted across the screens in search of suspicious behavior. The main priority was to issue the RedDead Alert if an Infected Incident occurred. It was also his job to search for dissidents on the Most Wanted list, and of course, report the selling of weapons. When something caught his eye, he zoomed in and rewound the scene. But, he was really only looking for Ella.
Employees received huge kudos and an awesome bonus if an Infected was neutralized before it infected a citizen. Last month he had reported several Infecteds within minutes of turning. He was racking up LSCs. Justin knew what to look for, the initial confusion he had tagged fanic: a cross of panic and fear. For some reason, citizens usually attempted to return to their apartments instead of going to the nearest emergency clinic during the onset of a sudden illness like a heart attack.
Weird, Monday was the trending day for heart attacks, usually during the morning commute. He figured citizens dreaded going back to their sucky civil servant jobs. People ranking low on the IQ chart had it far worse. They lived in the outer zones and were forced to work the factories and farms.
After hours of scanning the screens, his eyes were ready to pop out of his head, but he was determined to keep his head in the game. The Zhetto Market had security cameras mounted to wooden utility poles approximately every ten feet. Elites usually arrived around noon and hung out until sunset, pretending to be cool and all that. Nobody wanted to lose an Elite on their shift. According to urban legend, if an Elite died on one’s watch, the employee disappeared from CitChat. Forever.
When the Elites left, his job was done. If an Infected Incident occurred after the Elites left, the team monitoring the drones would report it, locking down Zhetto so the inner rings weren’t breached. The Enforcer unit stuck patrolling the Y-zone border would just shoot the hell out of the Infecteds, which meant scores of Zhetts were victims of collateral damage.
Would Ella understand his cryptic message? He imagined her asking the Lost and Found Stuff merchant how much it cost to cross the border. The merchant was operated by an underground group of rebels who helped wanted cits defect. He had discovered it in the underbelly of the dark web and hadn’t reported it yet. If the supe busted him, he would say he was trying to catch the rebel leader on his own to earn the awesome reward.
It was easy to BS the big shots; they were only concerned with keeping their high-status titles. Agents like himself never went rogue based on A.I. data. Ye-ah, they even profiled the shit out of all employees involved in security. Probably using the A.I. programs he had created. It sucked!
The glint of something metal caught his eye as a grungy-bearded dude departed a tent selling watches. Justin had the drone scan him. The screen flashed Access Denied and went black. It must be an undercover agent working the market. How the heck was he supposed to catch the bad guys when they kept him out of the loop?
The Cyber Security unit played its own spy games. Meanwhile, the lack of Enforcers irked him. The market normally loitered with a surplus of Enforcers aching to earn the Gallant Gold medal for saving an Elite. He zoomed in on the visitor’s entrance and the vendor’s entrance. They still only have four freaking Enforcers.
He rang the supe on duty. “This is Agent number 00415B.” It was a stupid way to start a call. Besides, they already knew who was calling. They knew practically every freaking thing. The bots in his CitChip reported how many times he peed and how long it took him. Heck, his CitChip knew he had an intestinal infection before he did. It made him wonder what else the bots tracked.
“Now what?” the supe griped in his ear.
“The team of Enforcers you requested an hour ago never showed up.”
“We are well aware of it, Agent 00415B. Vehicle trouble. They will arrive shortly. Anything else?” The phone clicked before Justin had a chance to reply.
Justin ripped off his headset. It was a strange day, a sick-out, not enough Enforcers—and no Ella. She was probably having one of her panic attacks. After all, she had chickened-out on the apartment hunting thing. He didn’t always know what Ella would do. Usually, whatever the heck she wanted, whether it was logical or not. His dad had never gotten around to that talk: the illogical thinking of women. Gloom took over until he spotted four Zhetto Tours buses roll to the visitor’s entrance. She better be on one of those buses.
A U-Haul truck pulled up, blocking Justin’s view of the buses. A blind spot he normally would have reported. “Bozo, that’s not the vendor’s entrance,” Justin spouted to the monitor. He waited impatiently for the Enforcers to send the truck to the other entrance. From his limited view, Enforcers from the bus escorted the bus tourists into the market. He had his hand on the drone control, debating on overriding the fly pattern to search for Ella. Better not. The circumstance didn’t warrant breaking protocol.
The two Enforcers guarding the entrance motioned for the truck to back up and pointed to the vendor’s entrance, which was clearly marked. The U-Haul truck didn’t move. Something’s wrong. The driver of the truck jumped out. An Enforcer shoved the man to the ground while the other pointed an automatic rifle to his head. The truck driver tried to get to his knees, and raised his hands to the sky, yelling. What are they saying?
His eyes bounced from monitor to monitor, across one row to the next row, and then to the next wall. The monthly market didn’t have audio yet. The new Sixth Generation roll-out wasn’t due for a few months. The plan was to smart-grid the entire state, including Zhetto. That way, it would ensure safety for the entire state. Or so he had thought. After further investigation, he had found out 6G was only about controlling the citizens. It required a high-tech RFID brain chip. That was just scary.
He had read Last State’s reports on the lethal effects of 5G. The constant bombardment of microwaves damaged the DNA, causing brain damage, severe unexplainable pains, extreme dizziness, and all kinds of cancers, especially in children. So, Parker had been right. His computer geek friend had always insisted 5G was lethal. Despite his friend’s love for computers, Parker used to wear a copper-meshed cloak and hat looking like an alien in a hokey fifties sci-fi flick. The dude had been a walking-faraday cage. It explained why Ella had to wear a copper-meshed smock under her clothing. Protecting the fetus until they were ready—to what?
If 6G was a hundred times more powerful than 5G, imagine all the health complications. The Elites obviously didn’t give a shit. They had their Fountain of Youth elixir. All they wanted was to clean up Zhetto and track cits more efficiently. At their last techy meeting, Justin had learned the creepy truth. 6G was like a ginormous information conduit connecting every CitChip, MeDevice, HomeDevice, GamingDevice, headset, drone, and who knew what else into the silo dumps.
He wondered what types of data the brain chip could compile. And they would probably cannibalize the program he had written to profile and falsely incriminate innocent cits. He had been so involved in the challenge of creating the program, he hadn’t stopped to think of the possible ramifications. Because 6G made 5G look like prehistoric analog technology. He had contemplated creating a computer virus. But it was too chancy. Anyway, he was out of time.
The logistics team was evaluating where to install the 6G boxes. The upgraded technology would provide excellent audio and video feed per the beta testing areas in the inner rings. Better than drones. Allowing them to save the drones for incidents where they needed additional coverage. Or when an Elite needs his MeBuy fix within the hour, he snarked.
Unfortunately, drones were quickly becoming extinct. It was the latest proble
m. Camouflaged snipers shot down the drones patrolling Zoat in the northern border where most of the smuggler activity occurred. It was probably only a matter of time before Last Sate recovered more drones and high-tech equipment from abandoned freighters lost to the oceans.
He finally made it back to the visitor’s entrance screen. The two Enforcers were still yelling at the truck driver. Justin was more interested in the bus tourists. Another bus was unloading. Is that Ella? It was hard to tell. Elites only wore shades of white. Many wore foo-foo hats that looked like something Tim Burton’s wife would wear to a zany opera. Ella was probably wearing her new black jeans. He stared at everyone’s legs.
Justin’s eyes darted back to the truck driver on his knees. An Enforcer yanked him to his feet. He frisked him until he found what he was looking for: keys. The Enforcer walked to the back of the U-Haul.
Justin didn’t know how he knew. “Don’t open the door!”
The Enforcer rolled up the cargo door. Dozens of Zs scrambled out. The Enforcer didn’t have a chance; he turned first. By the time Justin clicked the RedDead Alert button informing his supe of the Infected Incident, the truck driver had bit the dust, too. The Zs ripped apart the poor guy. The rest of the horde stumbled around for fresh meat.
They needed a siren warning. Justin had written a proposal to his supe two weeks ago, explaining how vulnerable the market was if attacked. A simple Wi-Fi operated siren, and it would have alerted the entire market, giving cits a chance to run to safety. Uh, ye-ah, his jerk supe had totally blown him off, saying it was a lame idea. Last State was going high-tech all the way.
Still no sign of the Enforcer unit? Where are they? He dialed the supe. He didn’t answer, of course, not with the attack. He was probably busy following protocol to ensure he didn’t lose his prestigious high-paying job. Shit. That meant Justin didn’t have much time to find Ella. The market would be in lockdown as soon as more Enforcers arrived. The few on duty couldn’t handle this.
His eyes locked onto a pair of legs in black jeans weaving in and out behind the white clothing. He couldn’t see her head behind the hats and umbrellas. A black umbrella appeared briefly. Was it Ella? His fingers fondled the drone remote. Technically, he was allowed to take control of it during a RedDead Alert. He circled the drone around. He zoomed in on the running black jeans He recognized the gait, the sway of hips. It had to be her.
His phone buzzed. Shit! “Did you get the alert?” Justin blurted first.
“Stop playing with the damn drone!” a familiar voice yelled into his ear.
“Did you send more Enforcers? Like an entire squad?” Those people needed help. Justin knew from his own experience that a horde could quadruple in size in minutes.
“Thirty minutes ago, we had an Incident in A-zone requiring all security personnel. We’ll send backup when we can. Now, get your hands off my drones.”
Oops, it wasn’t the supe. It was the director. “Yes, sir!” The call ended abruptly.
It was suddenly clear. The Z-attack had been planned. He put the pieces together: the sick-out, lack of Enforcers, and an A-zone incident. There was a new war going on. The underprivileged against the overprivileged.
Justin shrugged off the icky feeling festering in his stomach. He scanned the monitors for the running pair of black legs topped with a black lacy umbrella. “Parasol,” as Ella would have corrected with a dramatic rolling of the eyes. One by one, the wall of monitors went dark. He kept one screen ahead of the darkness as if he were the next victim in some cyber-psycho flick. The black jeans were half a football field ahead of the horde, losing ground as citizens ran past her toward the vendor’s entrance. Running had never been one of Ella’s strong points.
A dozen monitors ahead, the Enforcer on duty didn’t seem aware of the RedDead Alert. He stood at the vendor’s entrance with his back to the parking lot and smoked a hand-rolled cigarette. An old truck with a camper shell tried exiting through the entrance. He stopped the truck.
“Dude, can’t you hear the people screaming?”
The Enforcer seemed to be giving the older woman at the wheel a hard time. He turned toward the tents and did a double take. He took out his earbuds. The rebels must have hacked into the system and disabled the Enforcers’ communications. That’s what Justin would have done if he had coordinated the attack.
“Go!” Justin yelled to the truck.
He searched the previous screens for the running black legs, catching the Enforcer hightailing it for his Hummer. The first wave of frantic citizens rushed the vendor’s parking lot, trying to escape. For some reason, Justin went back to the screen with the old truck. The driver, an older woman, kept glancing around as she repeatedly tried to start the truck. “Don’t flood it,” Justin found himself chastising her.
There was something about that truck. He zoomed in on the license plate and scribbled down the plate number since the digital scanner was down. Ever since the Super Summer flu, he’d had moments of ESP-like insight, which he had always blamed on his hyperactive imagination. And the same hinky ESP feeling wouldn’t leave him alone today.
A man jumped out of the passenger’s side. He stood beside the truck with binoculars glued to his forehead. Duh, the horde’s right there. Like you can’t miss it. Justin stared in the same direction as the man. There was Ella, hunched over and out of breath, heartbeats away from being zombified.
“Ella, don’t stop. Run!”
The man ran to Ella and started fighting off Zs—instead of escaping in the truck. His hat flew off. Long black braids swung with his every move. “Holy shit!” Scarlett?
Ella rammed the parasol into a Z’s neck and then ran for the truck. Scarlett fought off the others, giving Ella the seconds she needed to get into the truck. Scarlett wasn’t far behind her. What the heck was Scarlett doing there dressed as a man? She must be escaping too. If anyone could get Ella out of Last State and into Boom Town, it was Scarlett. The strong-willed woman never ceased to amaze him.
The last monitor went dark. He so wanted to manually run the truck’s plates. But he risked leading his unit to Ella. After the excitement had died down, after the investigation, he would cyberpunk his way thru a back door to obtain the address registered to the license plate.
Officials would treat Ella’s disappearance as a top priority since they had re-classified her as an Honorary Elite. He had snooped around the supe’s desk the other day. What a shock to find out his own wife was an Elite. When were they going to tell him? There were plans to move them into C-zone at the first of next month. After they harvested the baby? And then what? Wait for her to have more babies. Sick monsters.
The deeper he probed, the more atrocities he stumbled upon. He was no longer the geeky nerd who would rather play X-box or work on his trademarked Weed of the Day marijuana mobile app than go on a date with a chick. His life had turned super-serious. For he was married to an Elite, a soon-to-be-dad, working a highly coveted position in what he had learned was Last State’s version of Homeland Security. Only it was more like the Third Reich meets World War Z.
The only thing he knew for sure, Last State didn’t want its citizens knowing what was really going on. Those who questioned were on the Most Wanted list and were either in hiding, dead, or un-dead. And most cits didn’t question it. Why? Because citizens had traded their freedoms for a safe and boring life. As long as they had food, entertainment, and a Wi-Fi device, they were more than happy to forget. The Great Un-remembering is what Justin called it. It was freaking weird that nobody talked about their lives before the Super Summer flu. As if it were taboo . . .
He expertly edited out the twenty-second feed revealing Ella’s escape in the old truck and then erased his digital fingerprints. The Elites were probably in the Situation Room this very second. How many Elites had died? A high-priority search would most likely be instigated within the hour. Ella, don’t forget to remove your CitChip. Scarlett would have thought of it.
He paced the room and waited to hear from his supe. H
is heart rate was too high, but it would be expected. Citizens had died during his watch. But, it couldn’t be blamed on him. Could it? To keep from going insane, he worked on his acting skills, mentally rehearsing his lines for when they told him Ella was MIA.
Fanic leached into his veins. What if agents had been monitoring Justin’s every move? He would know soon enough. This installation was super freaky. Employees weren’t allowed to socialize with one another. Last State kept each piece of the puzzle compartmentalized so no one knew the complete picture. But sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, the bigger picture played on the Imax screen in his mind. The more he knew, the more petrified he was.
After an hour of wondering what he should do next, the director, a wiry man with a waxy complexion buzzed himself into Justin’s office. He braced for the news.
“Agent Chen.” Chief Watson paused and looked at his feet. He polished the top of his shoe with a handkerchief, stalling? “I regret to inform you . . . there has been an unfortunate—” Watson turned to face the blank monitors. “Your wife—” he finally said.
“Is the baby okay?” Justin gasped, holding his chest. His heart skipped a beat right on cue.
Chief Watson shook his head. “As you know, your wife had a visa for today’s Zhetto Market. As you witnessed, an unprecedented outbreak occurred.”
“No!” Justin yelled.
“We have confirmation. It was fast and painless.” Chief Watson seemed truly remorse in advising the news.
“You son of a bitch. It’s your fault,” Justin accused, tensing his jawbone and flaring his nostrils. “You didn’t approve my time-off request. If I had been there, I could have protected her.” Justin swept his arm across his desk in a melodramatic gesture, sending everything to the floor in a cross between a crazed Woody Harrelson character and a furious Billy Bob Thornton. Was Watson buying it? It would be worth the Rage Management MeTherapy webinar.
“Your anger is understandable. How was I to know? We’re making the arrangements for you now. No funerals for Infecteds. Well, she wasn’t actually an—” Chief Watson stopped as if unsure how to word it. “There is no protocol for this precise scenario. Therefore, I’m personally approving one month’s paid leave while you go through the mandatory Spousal Grieving Preparedness. You’re an invaluable employee as well as a dedicated citizen, worthy of our cause. Last State appreciates your devotion and mourns your loss.” Chief Watson unexpectedly saluted Justin.
Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 3): Last State Page 12
